CRAVING U (The Rook Café) (15 page)

“OK!  See you later, then!”  Matteo smiled
at her, his face suddenly coming alive with the irrepressible desire to be with
her, before running off to join his team.

Marika returned to her seat in the
stands.  Tricky had already begun his usual chant of player introductions.

The
Cambrai
were wearing
ivory-white uniforms with scarlet red streaks and matching scarlet socks, in
marked contrast to the traditional
blue and gold
of the home team. 
Everyone took their positions, waiting for the ref to blow his whistle.

Tweeeeeeeet
!!!  Matteo kicked the
ball toward his left winger, sending off the first of many attacks that would
sputter out deep in the opponent’s territory.  From the opening minute, it was
obvious that this would be a difficult match, full of back-and-forth play at
midfield and desperate attempts for breakaways, all of which turned into very
few good shots on goal and a large dose of physical play and bad luck in the
box.

In the stands, watching this showdown
between the top two teams in the division, was Michele Canosi, the very agent
who had visited the team in September.  Off to the side so as to attract less
attention from the spectators, he was giving instructions to the cameraman
standing next to him: “I want you to keep the camera on number 10 of the blue
team throughout the entire match.  We’ll worry about editing it down to a
presentable format later.”  His voice had taken on its usual authoritarian
tones.  “This is an important job, I’m counting on you.”

As he was about to light up yet another
cigarette, he felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder, followed by a hoarse
voice that he knew well.  “When are you going to quit that dirty habit?”

Without turning, he said in a knowing
voice, “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation.”

Sitting gracefully on a soft stadium
cushion arranged carefully on the cement steps, Carlo Braidi, the president of
the youth squad of
AC San Carlo
, invited his friend the agent to sit
down next to him.  He was wearing a classically fashionable suit, tailor-made,
and a pair of leather shoes straight from a Milan cobbler that had been
handmade for his feet.   “I have to admit, after our meeting in my office last
fall, I started asking around about this kid. I even spoke to the higher ups of
the
San Carlo
organization about him.”

“You don’t say,” Michele interrupted
rhetorically.  “So I assume you were impressed.”

Carlo sighed, resigned to his role of
snuffing out passions and tempering wild ambitions.  “Management is worried
about how talented he really is, seeing as how at age 18, not a single
professional team has shown any interest in him.”

“But you’re here now...” the agent blurted
out, his pulse racing as his cigarette burned itself out between two yellowed
fingers.  “And therefore, there’s a chance.”

The conversation had taken an interesting
turn.  Not even the penalty kick awarded to
Cambrai
for a hard foul in
the box after just 12 minutes of play could distract them.  “Michele, it wasn’t
easy to convince them to give him a chance.  I put forward your opinion; I know
that if you think he’s really good, then it’s worth a shot.”

There was a short pause, during which the
entire stands fell silent, waiting for the kick to be taken from the penalty
spot.

Braidi inhaled deeply, pulling his leather
briefcase onto his knees and extracting his bulging day timer from it.  “They
gave me
carte blanche
.”

“I knew it!” Canosi celebrated even more
enthusiastically than the rest of the fans for the missed penalty shot by the
opposing team’s captain.

“But I wanted to see him with my own eyes.” 
He gave Michele a look that brought his enthusiasm down a notch.  “That’s why I’m
here today.  I hope I won’t regret it.”

“You want me to believe that this is the
first time you’ve seen him, then?” he asked, grinning and raising his hands in
false surrender.  “All right, no problem.  Have it your way.  You won’t regret
it.  He’s a superstar, see for yourself!”

The game, which was still scoreless, was
nearing the halftime whistle when Bassani, playing farther back than his usual
position, launched a long ball for Zovigo down the sideline.  Matteo trapped it
with his chest and then sprinted down the field, dribbling past one, and then a
second defender.  At the last second, as the goalkeeper came out, he passed the
ball back to his teammate who found himself alone in front of the goal and
tapped the ball into the net for an easy goal behind the goalkeeper’s back. 
The home team was now ahead.

“Don’t make yourselves look ridiculous!” 
Above the din of the roaring crowd, Canosi yelled at the
Cambrai
players
who had surrounded the referee at midfield, claiming that Matteo had been
offside.  “You’re wasting your breath.  There were at least two of your players
behind him.”  He then turned to his esteemed colleague, happy as a clam.  “What
do you say?”

Braidi said nothing, but let an approving
look appear on his face.  He continued writing some notes in his day timer,
waiting for the crowd to calm down before saying, “His natural position is
between midfield and attacker; he passes well to the forwards on all sides.  He
controls the tempo of the game and is the focal point of the team.  He has
speed and moves quickly with the ball, making him difficult to defend.  He has
scored nineteen goals in eighteen games, an average that is more like a striker
than a midfielder.  He has given assists to thirteen different players, making
the team the most prolific goal scorer in their division.”  He closed his
notebook.  “He’s a true playmaker, with a sense for the game and for scoring
goals.”

“Hmm.  And so today would be the first day
you have seen him, eh?  You sly dog.”  He smiled, satisfied with himself.  “I
would only add that he takes penalty kicks and shows promise in free kicks as
well.”

“It’s true,” Braidi confirmed.  “I had a
feeling it would be like this, but seeing him play, I’m more and more certain
that the only reason that he hasn’t been picked up by a team yet is because he’s
playing for a small team in a small provincial league.”  He shook his head.  “We
have to do a better job scouting these outlying teams.”

“For sure, though the recent tendency to
look for bigger, more physical players hasn’t helped,” Michele added, inhaling
a deep puff of bluish smoke.

During halftime, while the two sports
professionals flipped through the sports pages and compared notes on Serie A
teams and players, the girls of
The Rook
were comparing their own less
technical notes about the game.  With Livia’s assistance, Lucrezia had been
studying up on the language of soccer, seeing it as her own personal Trojan
Horse by which she could penetrate the enemy defenses.  And even though a hat
trick made them think of shopping, the off-season was associated merely with
eyeing boys at the beach, and their most informed comments about players had to
do more with six-pack abs, sculpted pecs, and buns of steel rather than assists
and passing percentages, they were doing their best to enter that strange world
of soccer, so precious to boys like Matteo.

Marika was busy trying to contradict the
ridiculous things she heard flying out of Lucrezia’s mouth about the game when
she noticed something strange in the stands.  First, she spied her father, who
hadn’t told her that he would be coming to the match, next to Matteo’s dad and
sister, Loretta.  All of a sudden, they stood up and went toward the
Brenta
offices, led by Coach Esposito, where they were met by Dr. Manea, the owner of
the
Brenta Soccer Club
, and his oldest son.  Matteo had noticed them
too, and both of them watched the group carefully until the referee whistled
and the coach headed toward the bench.  Marika saw the group of three return to
their seats talking animatedly, and was just about to run over to her father as
an excuse to hear what they were saying, when the second half began and the
moment was gone.  “
It’s probably nothing
,” she  told herself.  “
I’ll
get the scoop tonight
.”  And she forgot all about it.

Unlike her, Matteo couldn’t forget about
it, and looked lost and bewildered on the field the entire second half.  The
tempo of the game slowed down and he could do nothing to speed it back up.  It
became a dull back and forth with the
Brenta
team seemingly happy to
just hold back and defend their slim lead, which they inevitably lost with
about ten minutes left, when the
Cambrai
striker equalized with a
header.

Canosi and Braidi were unsurprised to see
his play become suddenly sloppy: it wasn’t very hard for anyone, especially a
talented player, to imagine
what
or
who
had been able to convene
a meeting between the owner of the club, the coach, and Mr. Zovigo.  They
expected a teenager to react like that; they had spent years watching kids from
small towns fall apart in their presence, and they had the experience and
professional know-how to be able to look past these juvenile reactions.  They
were there to identify
future
champions and get them on that path.

“So, here we are,” the agent said,
waiting.

“I’d say at this point that we need to
speak directly with the kid and his family.”  The recruiting process was now
inexorably underway, following a pattern that was always the same, like a
well-oiled machine.  “Just give me a second to call the head office.”  Braidi
pulled a simple cellphone from his jacket pocket: no smartphone, latest
generation UMTS, WAP and WLAN, no touchscreen, iPhone, Galaxy, or integrated
GPS... just a phone with large buttons and screen for people with bad vision. 
He punched in a number, lowering his chin and looking out over his glasses as
he did so, and while he waited for the secretary to connect him with the
correct extension, he complimented Canosi.  “By the way, I saw in the English
papers that you found a spot for that player.  They were talking about a
monster contract for an aging, average talent.”

“That’s right, I was able...,” but Michele
wasn’t able to finish his story, because Carlo was now speaking to the man on
the other end of the line.

After a quick summary of the player that
Carlo provided to the mystery man on the phone, he could be heard saying, “Let’s
give the kid a chance and see if he is able to take advantage of it.  We’ll see
if he’s cut out for it during the two month training session in Milan, where we’ll
be able to see how well he is able to become a part of the team and whether he
can handle the new pressures of this kind of life.”  After a brief pause,
filled only with monosyllables, Braidi concluded by saying, “Personally, I
think he’s a future all-star.  I’ve seen him play, and he hasn’t disappointed.” 
He glanced quickly at his colleague before adding, “With any luck, he’ll make
the national team!  He’s got the skills, what matters now is his character and
his mental toughness.”  Some more monosyllables, and then, “Thank you very
much.  I’ll keep you personally informed about each step.  As far as buying him
off his current club, there’s no problem.  They’re a small-time team and
inexperienced.  They’ve already accepted our offer in principle.”

Canosi watched, satisfied and impressed to
hear that the preliminary discussions about the player had already taken place
and the standard economic offer accepted.

Another pause.  “Yes, yes, absolutely...
no negotiations!  They have their heads in the clouds, as was to be expected,
by the offer to affiliate themselves to our team as a sort of satellite squad:
smoke in their eyes and free advertising for us.”  The agent nodded in approval
at Braidi’s words as the conversation neared its end.  “They won’t raise any
objections to him passing to our roster.  Excuse me?  OK.  Perfect.  I’ll call
you this evening to fill you in.  Thanks again,
Mr.
Parini.  Talk soon.”

“YES!”  Carlo did not even have time to
pocket his phone before Michele shouted his excitement.  “Thank
you
, Mr.
Braidi!  Excellent work!”  He shook his hand, acknowledging his colleague’s
talent.  “He’ll be a great addition to
San Carlo
.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Braidi agreed, before
launching a jab at his old friend.  “And it’ll be a great addition to your bank
account, I believe.  You’ll earn, what,
millions
off of it over the next
fifteen years?”

“Yes, I do love my job,” Canosi smiled.

In the meantime, the game had ended in a
tie.  The final score gave satisfaction only to
Cambrai
; as the home
team, settling for a tie was not enough for
Brenta
, who had lost a
golden opportunity to gain ground on its main rivals in the rankings.

Rushing from the stadium to accompany
Carlotta home for a quick makeup session before heading back out for pizza,
Marika looked around for the 99th time that day for Matteo.  There he was,
standing near the locker room entrance with Dario.

His hair was darker from the sweat of the
game, and it brought out shades of an extraordinarily beautiful range of blues
in his eyes, intense and liquid, like aquamarine irises struck by the sun.  He
smiled warmly at her, watching her struggle with the kick-start of her
scooter.  “Tonight, I’m getting together with Marika,” he said to his friend,
as if it were a secret.